


Hurt

by SoManyFandoms



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Gen, Post-Episode: s02e24: No Reason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 12:12:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13364451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoManyFandoms/pseuds/SoManyFandoms
Summary: House does some thinking while he is recovering after the shooting.





	Hurt

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the song Hurt by Johnny Cash.
> 
> Written June 2008.
> 
> Mean to be posted December 2017. Catching up!

House wondered why a patient’s husband felt angry enough to shoot him, when it was really the husband’s fault. They came in ill, he cured them if he could, sent them home, and if they couldn’t be healed, they were made as comfortable as possible. It wasn’t his fault that the patient’s husband had had an affair, though that wasn’t why the patient was sick, and they even found out what was making her sick Sure, he had told the patient her husband was having an affair, and then she had killed herself, but it wasn’t his fault, the husband should of kept his little killer in his pants. But had he really become that unfeeling, that cold, to tell someone that their husband was having an affair, when they didn’t need to know, that someone had wanted to shoot him?

Even as he drank more alcohol, enough to make him feel numb and everything seem far away, he could still think, still remember how his actions had changed since the infarction, how unfeeling and unthinking about everyone else but himself he became. More alcohol, more of the numb feeling, but also more thoughts, thoughts he couldn’t stop. Even when he fell asleep, it was fitful.

 

“Jimmy?” House croaked, his throat dry. He could hear someone talking, but was unable to make out the words. Opening his eyes a fraction, he could make out his best friend beside him, but the bright light made the pounding in his head worse, making him groan and wonder whether the image of Wilson there was real at all. Most likely a dream, because after all he had done, Wilson had every right to leave, just like Stacy had. He sank gratefully back into sleep.

 

It was all in his will, just in case one day he decided to leave the world behind, to die for want of a better way of saying it, when there was nothing left for him, that everything of his would become Wilson’s, though Jimmy didn’t know this. Even the piano, though Jimmy couldn’t play, and Steve McQueen, though he had complained many times about House not feeding his own pet and that the rat would starve if he wasn’t there. Everything, though he didn’t know if Wilson would want it if he finally succeeded in making him walk away.

Everybody lied, and he wasn’t an exception, he wouldn’t deny that. Sure, he got the ducklings to lie to the patients about their conditions and treatments and break into houses, but this was because the patients lied, and so the dishonesty by him and his team was needed. The thoughts of this and what had happened since the infarction continued to plague his sleep, so much that Wilson, who hadn’t left his side since he had found House drunk and passed out on the couch, placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to offer some support, even through the veil.

 

He dreamt that he was standing in front the hospital. Wondering what was going on, he stepped through the doors and stopped in the clinic. Brenda wasn’t at the desk though; there was this younger woman. House quickly moved over to Cuddy’s office, but there was someone different there as well. Dreading what he had to see, he hurried to the conference room. There was a different team, but there he was, at his desk. Paling, he practically ran to Wilson’s office. Wilson wasn’t there, and neither was any of his personal belongings either. Everyone had moved on; he was the only one who had stayed the same.

What had he become? He had been the same before, and yet it was only after the infarction that everything big happened! First Vogler, and then the shooting, (Cuddy would be fretting over what had happened for months), and now how would Wilson react to him being shot? Would it be like the infarction, like Stacey, finish getting him treated and then leave him? Because if it was, he didn’t think he would be able to cope with losing his only friend

 

He awoke to late afternoon sun filtering through the curtains, warming his face, and a blanket spread over him. Opening his eyes slightly, the hangover gone, House could see that the empty bottles of alcohol had disappeared, and the place looked generally cleaner. Groaning as the consequences from sleeping on the couch made themselves known, he froze as footsteps were heard. When Wilson came around the corner with a cup of water, he let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“So, what happened?” Wilson asked, sitting on the edge of the coffee table and helping House drink some of the water.

“You’re not going to leave?” Wilson paused to consider what House meant.

“No, never.”

“Not even after what I’ve become?”

“If I left, Cuddy would end up killing you.” House smiled as he reached out for the cup and Wilson helped him drink some. He would start preparations, just in case, otherwise one day looks from Cuddy could kill.


End file.
